Kelsie tours her new neighbor's home after he says, "Howdy."

Based on a post by RavenAngstrom Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.

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Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, 2010

Kelsie Bluebook jogged down the Ocean View sidewalk, boobily bouncing as she did. Her ass, scarcely contained by her shorts, clapped like the chorus of a gospel choir, and it was worshiped as such. Her hair was blonde with an e, her nails were fresh as a farmer's market, her eyes were the color of Blue No. 2 food coloring, industrial grade. Her sports bra was twice as strong as Atlas, for it had to hold up two colossal globes, not one.

Every morning, Kelsie went for a jog around the neighborhood. Every morning she became a new teenage boy's fantasy or elicited a 'tut tut' from the prudish nuns who lived up the street.

She trotted past her new next door neighbor, Chuck, letting his dog out for a walk. He gazed at her bouncing form, hazel eyes wide as the moon.

He was no slouch himself, as Kelsie could see from the tight grey sweatpants he wore while letting his dog out for the morning. His cock was the side of a grandfather clock's pendulum. As mighty as a sledgehammer. A woman needed a heavy machinery license to ride him. He could body shame a sperm whale.

Kelsie had to meet him. "Hiya," she called brightly from across the street, waving vigorously.

"Howdy," he replied.

It's a little odd to say 'howdy' in these parts. I'd better investigate, Kelsie thought. She looked both ways, then bounded across the street.

Music from the 2017 movie Baywatch starring the Rock and Zac Effron began to play in Chuck's ears. That was both because he saw Kelsie running over, and also because he'd rented the film on DVD last night and the soundtrack had been stuck in his head ever since.

Kelsie bounded up to Chuck's front door. The house was cute, with fresh siding and shingles. She could suddenly imagine herself living there and redecorating, but that was because interior decorating was one of her favorite hobbies. She imagined herself living in every house she saw; swapping light fixtures, repainting, changing the curtains to blinds then back to curtains when she realized the blinds looked cheap.

She would never do this work herself, of course. She'd hire a strapping young man who dropped his tools a lot so she could bend over to pick them up.

"Hiya," said Kelsie, even though she'd already said that.

"Howdy," Chuck repeated.

"There you go. Saying 'Howdy,' again. Why is that?" Kelsie asked, popping her hip and touching her finger to her mouth. It was her thinking expression. When she put on her thinking expression, men stopped thinking and told her what she wanted to hear.

"I'm from Texas," Chuck said. "We say howdy there."

"Even to strangers?" Kelsie asked.

"Especially to strangers," Chuck replied. This was true.

"I don't want to be strangers," Kelsie said. This was also true.

"No one does," said Chuck. This was a lie, but he said it to flirt with her. Some people like being strangers with others. Chuck had neglected thinking about hermits.

"What do you want to be?" he flirted.

"Neighbors," said Kelsie. She reached out her hand and shook his. It seemed very formal to her. She'd prefer he'd kissed her hand, even though it would have been weird. He was handsome enough to pull it off. Yes. Chuck was that handsome.

"Neighbors," said Chuck, wishing he had the guts to kiss her hand. But that would be weird, he thought, wisely choosing to keep his lips to himself. For now.

"Mind if I come in?" Kelsie asked. She filled him in on the stuff from paragraph nine, the interior decorator hobby and all that, as they walked into his sitting room.

"Nice space," she said, wishing he'd pull up the carpet and expose that beautiful hardwood floor beneath. And the walls were too white, a touch of beige would really class up the joint.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm thinking about tearing up the carpet to expose the hardwood floor. After I paint the walls first, of course."

She spun around, wanting to leap into his arms then and there. "I was thinking the same thing," she said breathlessly.

Time slowed for Chuck as Kelsie’s breasts spun to face him. So did the rest of Kelsie. Keep your mind on the rest of Kelsie, Chuck thought to himself. He was trying his darndest to be polite, but his juicy, swollen, throbbing, hardening, dripping cock of his had him by the brain stem.

So determined was Chuck not to look at her buxom, heaving, bountiful, beautiful breasts, he nearly missed what came next.

"What color?" Kelsie asked.

"Bright orange," said Chuck.

Kelsie paused. That can't be right. He was so perfect a moment ago. Her mind concluded this must be a joke. She laughed, a genuine beautiful laugh that took Chuck's soul and threw it twenty feet aloft.

His soul was aloft for two reasons. One, he had made a beautiful woman laugh, one of the greatest feelings in the world (after orgasming inside a woman (or man, if one prefers) while they whisper I love you in your ear while being young (which makes everything better)).

The second reason his soul was aloft: he was not joking about painting the room orange, and his heart was panicking like a lost child at a petting zoo with more rams than supervision.

"I'm kidding," said Chuck, saving the moment and a lot of money on terrible paint. He laughed along, a nervous laugh, like getting too close to a mountain cliff and a couple rocks fall as you scamper back to safety.

Chuck is so funny, thought Kelsie’s brain. "You are so funny," her mouth echoed.

They paused, admiring each other's bodies through their peripheral vision so not to disturb the social contract of not being obvious about checking someone out. Also known as not being a creep. But deep down, they wanted to creep all over each other.

Alas, they could not.

"Shall I show you the kitchen?" Chuck said.

"Oh, yes," said Kelsie. She looked around, not sure of the direction to go. The hallway from the living room branched in two directions, you see. It was a half split level. She could go up, but that was the way to the bedrooms. Around the corner was down, the way to the kitchen. But she couldn't know which was which, because she'd never been there.

She'd spied on the listing, of course. But it was so much different once you're in the house. The photos weren't clear at all in this case. The previous owner had done them himself. Always a disaster, she'd thought at the time.

Chuck put his hand on Kelsie’s back, guiding her down the stairs to the kitchen. Kelsie swooned inside. She hadn't swooned like this since she saw a Hemsworth brother out on one of her jogs. She didn't know which one it was, she didn't get close enough. But it was definitely one of them.

The kitchen sparkled like a ethically sourced diamond. Granite countertops, complementing the white shaker cabinets on a sensibly tiled floor, with a backsplash depicting the 1990's hit show Baywatch in a series of glass tableaus.

"I like it. The backsplash is interesting..." Kelsie trailed off. It was incredibly done, even though the subject matter was a little odd. The detail of the mosaic was exquisite. Shards of glass the size of a fingernail clipping were sprinkled in as chest hair on a four inch depiction of the 'Hoff.

It would almost be a shame to get rid of it, she thought. So much care went into this. "Did you buy the place specifically for the backsplash?"

Chuck laughed for real, a deep boom that no doubt echoed around in his testicles for days. "No, but I tried to watch the movie last night. Turns out I rented the wrong one."

"These damn remakes," said Kelsie. "Still, the movie industry keeps me employed. So I guess it's better than no-makes." Kelsie laughed at her own joke.

Chuck laughed too, a polite, extra hard laugh signaling he was into her.

No one would laugh at a joke that terrible, thought Kelsie. Maybe he's stupid.

Kelsie walked to the island. That's right, the kitchen had an island too. Piles of move in boxes were stacked on the counters. Kelsie strolled around the island, surreptitiously peering into the box for anything feminine. The pots were at least fifteen years old.

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